Eleven minutes
by Henpuku-Hime
Summary: In eleven minutes, much can change. Hope can be lost, and smiles can be broken.  Prequel to "Another kind of Suicide", can be read alone. one-sided B/J implied.


Well, Here it finally is! The requested Twin-story, prequel, sequel to "Another kind of suicide", from the Joker's POV. Now I warn thee; I am quite horrible at writing from the Joker's POV (it's...so...hard...) So it might be most utterly disappointing! Then again, I had to write Sir Laughalot while DEPRESSED, so yeah. I hope you enjoy.

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><p>Eleven minutes ago, I was so sure he'd show up. I just <em>knew <em>it. Of course I did, he's my other half, my soul mate, the ying to my yang- He, completes, me. So of course he'd come. Hell, the only reason I let these pathetic coppers catch 'n keep me was that I _knew _he'd save lil' ol' me.

They surely have no taste, these so-called men of the law. This place is disgusting, even to me, and believe me, I've been told my, uhm, _standards _for personal hygiene aren't the highest. Not in such kind words of course.

The bars are rusty, dusty chains hanging from one side of the tiny-winy window in the door to the other, said door dented and scratched from the many captives that slowly lost their mind and threw themselves at it in a desperate attempt to get out. The floor is empty and hard and cold and a boring grey, matched by the same walls and ceiling. Only the ceiling sports some suspicious dark-coloured patches. I giggled when I found out one of them is shaped like a certain flying rodent.

Eleven minutes ago, I was sure he'd show up.

Ten minutes ago, I started to doubt.

You see this was a gamble. A bet. A way to, uh, see if he felt the same. Or different. But _something_. To see if he agreed with _them_, and to hope he didn't.

So I let those lowlifes capture me, judge me and "decide my fate". I couldn't stop my laughter during the judging, and I was more than pleased that apparently I managed to shake that spoilt little billionaire Wayne up quite a bit. Instead of lying around and grinning like an idiot, he was having trouble containing himself. I could see he felt, ah, _disturbed_. But no need to get bats jealous, that was only for laughs. There was only one person I wanted to come, only one person I care to truly disturb. I wanted him to prove it.

They decided it'd be more than fair, my dear, if I died. They decided that if he didn't have the guts or the will to finish me off, they would.

It's been three days now, and I several minutes they'll come and get me. Unless he saves me, proves them wrong and saves me, I'll be dead in less than an hour. Funny, huh?

They're all expecting me to, ah, escape, you know. Boring little near-sighted idiots. Blind as a bat. -no offence to _him_ of course, but you gotta admit, he ain't the most insightful at times.- They should know by now that I don't do the expected. They should realize that this is **bigger** than our normal game of catch.

This is the biggest gamble, the final game.

It's all up to him now. He comes for me, I live. He doesn't, I die. I'm putting my life on the line here, and in a different way than our regular dance.

Eleven minutes ago, I was sure he'd show up.

Ten minutes ago, I started to doubt.

Nine minutes ago, I knew he wasn't coming.

Because he's not showing up. Because I'm going to die. Because **he doesn't care**. And that's the, ah, puh-ainful part. I could escape easily, but I don't really have the energy anymore, you know. Crime…no, _life_ has no punch-line without Batman. I gambled. Mom always did tell me that gambling would be my downfall. Or maybe she didn't. I don't remember.

But he doesn't care. He's not going to prove them wrong- he's going to _approve_. I'd laugh if I wasn't so busy having my heart broken. This is so funny it's wrong.

Everything I've done until now, everything we said, everything they judged and everything he did- He doesn't care. He agrees with them. As long as he doesn't have to get his hands dirty he doesn't care whether I die or not. No, wrong. He's probably happy. Suppose I'll finally put a smile on that grumpy face of his, the moment I kick the bucket. Oh bats, this really is my loss. I don't mind.

I just wish things were different.

I really wanted him to be the only one to see things, to understand. To think and to realize. To let go of what's _fair_, and see the world for what it really is. To see humans for what they're really worth. Then again, his beauty did always lie in the fact that he's incorruptible.

There was no light in this room, and I was glad for it. The shadows reminded me of him, him in the dark, him with his shining black armour and nearly-black blue eyes. Just him. Always.

My throat was crushed under the blissfully delicious feeling of laughter, as my body shook with violent spasms. I laughed so hard it felt as if my chest was going to explode, tears rolling over grime and grease-paint, collecting dirt before they fell on the floor. Filthy drops of identity. My mask undone by smiling tears. I felt sick.

The unnatural laughter slowly died off, turned into panting. Growling. Snarling. **Screaming.** Fingers dug themselves into flesh and tangled into dirty locks, teeth ripping into cracked lips and bloodshot eyes pressed shut. Animalistic sounds must've left my throat, but I couldn't hear them. I couldn't hear anything. I drowned in my own screams.

Eight minutes ago, I wished he would be the one to kill me.

Eight minutes ago, I knew he wouldn't be.

You see, I'm not a crazy guy. Not a monster. _They _are. Their rules, their hypocrisy, their morals and their bloodthirsty beliefs. It's all such a joke. But you know bats…

Not all jokes are funny.

And perhaps I'm the same. Maybe I'm just another one in the crowd, with his own sick hypocrisy, another pathetic joke, without even knowing it. But I don't think so. I think I'm _different_. And that's why they'll kill me. –because that's what they're going to do, even though covered up with pretty words like "execute" and "carrying out the sentence" or the worst of all; "Justice"- That's alright. I _knew _they wanted me dead. I don't mind. They just can't stand my, uh, loveliness, I suppose.

But him, him I wanted to be different.

Maybe I was hasty. Maybe I was stupid. Maybe if I _planned _things more carefully, _thought _about this a bit more, I wouldn't have made this gamble. Maybe I wouldn't have lost. But hey, when do **I **think things through?

Is it because of the girl? The dogs? Two-face? The knife wound in his gut? I sure hope it's not cause of Gambol. How could **he**, with all his _justice_, accept this as good? As _fair_? More importantly, how could he **do **this?

Seven minutes ago, I realized he didn't care for me.

Seven minutes ago, I realized he cared for them more.

I grow quiet, and the spark in my eyes fades. To get killed by a bunch of policemen kinda beats the purpose. I wonder if this is his way of punishing me. Ignoring me. I haven't seen him in _ages_. I'd like to see that handsome chin under the cowl once more. I can't understand how he can stand to not see _my _lovely mug before I go. I'm glad I never found out who he "really" is. Whoever's behind the mask is just an uninteresting façade. _Batman _is the real deal. Even though he probably refuses to believe it.

Six minutes ago, I wondered if he just never realized.

Well, so much for the title of World's greatest detective, in that case. He couldn't **not **have realized, could he? About me, us, this. Them. About how this is a test, and _all _he needs to do is show up, before everything goes wrong? But no, he either doesn't see or doesn't give a damn, cause he's not showing up. He's going to _abandon_ me, just because a bunch of sissy's and politicians will feel safe at night, and the mayor will be able to brag about it in his upcoming campaign. Traitor. Bats is such a traitor.

The scars are itching again. Stretching. Burning. I never did tell you how I got them, did I? Ah well, maybe another time.

Five minutes ago, I started thinking about the future.

His future of course, not mine. Mine'll be as short as the life-span of a bagel in the police office, but honestly, his won't be much longer. Hell, if they're this eager to get rid of me, just cause my nailpolish and eyeshadow clash, imagine how they'll react to _his _get-up!

No, they'll take care of him soon enough- and he won't be able to stop them. And I won't be there to stop them. My dear darling bat- are you _that _desperate to please them? So eager to love? Wanting to be liked so _very _much that you're willing to kill a part of you? Your other half? **Me? **

Four minutes ago, I started recalling every time we met.

All our dances were so…spectacular. After a while, the thrill of crime, stealing and even killing- they were all overshadowed by the thrill of seeing you. Interest grew into fascination, fascination developed into obsession and obsession evolved into something quite different. All four, combined with need and desire, and the constant wondering and wanting _more_.

Three minutes ago, I realized I love him.

But this small private epiphany didn't even rock my boat, lest turn my world upside down. In fact, I could've quite gone without the information. Cause let's face it, facts are facts and he was pleased to leave me to rot here. I wondered why, and then I got it.

Two minutes ago, I realized he hates me.

A small twitch of my hand betrayed my heart's beating state. That beating would vanish soon, and personally left me quite cold. Hell, why would I escape? He didn't come for me. I lost the bet. That would just make me a sore loser. He hates me. The words repeat themselves endlessly in my head. He. Hates. Me. I love him. He hates me. Is this what rejection feels like? I wouldn't know, but it sure isn't a happy feeling. Hell, if I was anyone but me I'd stop smiling.

In the beginning I'd been telling him to come and get me, you know. But I…I know he won't. I'm going to die. I repeat the words loudly and clearly in my head, feeling calmer than you'd think. I don't fear death. Life- now that's the _really _spooky thing. I'm going to die- and he's going to be happy about it. Done and dead.

One minute ago, I gave up.

The door opens now, and the shadows are scared away by bright light. My limp and unmoving body is pulled up by strong blue-clad arms and I am roughly dragged over the dull grey floor. Everything is black but the opening, a fierce burning white, chasing away the shadows- a white so seeing, so pure, I am sure I will vanish.

As I'm dragged into the light, I think of him.


End file.
